In My Eyes, Be
by wahinetoa
Summary: Spike & Kendra pairing. Spikes newly restored soul comes with an unexpected provision. WIP
1. part one

In My Eyes, Be  
by Lill'sis and Wahinetoa  
27th November 2002  
  
Rating: R, m/f. WIP, AU. (sorta)  
NZ and Aussie haven't gotten Buffy 7thSeason yet, so the story is written as a possible lead in to the cannon. To the general Northern Hemisphere will be viewing it as AU.   
Pairings: S/K, A  
Rating: R. Mainly for the odd description and a few words. Nothing too graphic.  
Spoilers: Buffy: What's My Line, Becoming 1&2, most of 6th season, especially "Villains, Two to Go and Grave." Angel: Everything in Season 2 up to "Epiphany"  
Summary: WIP. The rewritten "R" prelude to a larger romance story. Spikes newly restored soul comes with an unexpected provision.  
  
DISCLAIMER: All characters on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are the property of Joss Whedon and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy. Hercules: the Legendary Journeys owns the Sumerian demon, called Dahok. But Dahoks demona spawn; Dahok Lohr, is my creation as Spikes Granter of Souls.  
  
Warnings: A few swear words and inspirations of the naughty in nature. Nothing too graphic.  
  
AN: Driven by the deliciousness of Devil Piglets "Wayward" on this site, I got the inspiration to post this unfinished story written for Poi Sempre in honor of Bianca Lawson's extraordinary character. Unbeta'd, over-written and lacking a good editor, please take all mistakes as a sign of leaving school at 15. If the prologue goes over well, however, I'd be happy to continue on their adventures. :)  
  
Broken for length.  
  
//...// Lohr's thoughts.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
//He wanted a soul; he got it. Poor Bastard.//  
  
His baptism of fire, ended, ironically with darkness. An endless quiescent inky oblivion, incandescent against his ashen white skin. All this for the slayer, and now he was dead.   
  
Blinding buggery.  
  
Suddenly, this world implodes. Lacerations tear the lamentable stillness, chalky translucent creatures bleed into the space about him. Shark circling. Feeding time at the zoo. Their facades become less translucent and take visages of those he had known before. The family he had killed after Drusilla turned him; the lives he took, the man he was before; all appeared and dissolved in quick succession. Repeated again, until he remembers in every bitter-sweet detail their lives and their dreams had spoken in earnest, when he; himself, was human.   
  
His victims had finally found him in the ether, to take their debt at will. No asylum. No pardon. And when they came, he would not and could not defend himself against them. No longer did he have that right.   
  
Without warning, bestial shapes become a myriad of white sharp stars flinging themselves towards him, striking and biting into his pale skin, their venom augmented by memory and guilt. His flesh burns, scars and bleeds - a final vilification.  
  
His mind and body bent, twisted violently by the inhuman strikes, it would be impossible to feel when one of those hands taking their ultimate toll, became all too human. An unexpected reprieve. But he does.  
  
Spike feels it; because he knows he has no right too.   
  
A gentle caress among the madness of slayage, softly laid against his ribs, a tactile incantation of clemency, easing in their own right the bloodied mass. At her touch, the agony and voices started to crumble, fall away from the scars they had so happily inflicted; starting from the point of contact.   
  
His eyes were closed, burned shut by the pain that still rings out around him, but William; immortal man, could still see her in a way that beholds solely to the imbedded vampire perceptions. A delicious sense of prestige and vitality housed in voluptuously smooth skin, rippled with the same fever burning inside his own. Spike frowned momentarily, trying to fight the dizziness that overtook him in grasping for her identity and logic, fearing that he wasn't worthy of her. Knowing it. The thoughts betrayed the gift, tearing her away from his mind and spirit, slashing once again. In the temporary, the voices and screams rushed back - clawing viciously.   
  
Bloody Hell! Spike clenched with the agony, momentarily lost to it. Her touch changed, became assertive and emphatic. Elegant fingers curl against his cool flesh, evoking a brazen fire in the pit of his belly, and gloriously, a little further south. Hands that could coax the devil from his hellish crypt and then some. The voices and agony fall away slowly, drawing him back to some aspect of sanity and liberation. The more she touched him, the more the voices and attacks diminish.   
  
He's thrashing now, straining against invisible bonds and shackles to plead for her to do as she wants -- just bloody hell, don't stop. Please.   
  
At the revelation, bonds are broken. He reaches for her, arms encircle and draw her in, tightly - brandishing. Their bodies collided. The soft curves of her breasts pushed against his chest. Spike twitched beneath the caress, his own hands running the gamult of their hard pressed bodies to touch her in kind. Slender, smooth, the power of something dangerous beneath it all.   
  
Spike feels his vampire self slide into place, regardless, driven by the pheromones of the sweet blood that flows just beneath her skin. Spike rallies against the base nature, but it is useless - and she knows it too. Fangs elongate, as he feels her hands tangle in his hair, drawing him down - demanding. His mouth took possession of her, breaking the tender skin to the life-force beneath.   
  
Her life blood like a 100 year old scotch. Rare. Exquisite. Fortified. His body infused with her and the fire she had become to him. He began to suck hard, cheeks hollowed by the tantalizing pressure eliciting a quaking tremble in his long limbs - absorbing every sweet drop.   
  
And he trembles into memories that aren't his own - yet are.  
~~*~~  
Vibrant dappled jade in a lush wilderness canopy--a man with mahogany skin, gentle eyes and salt&pepper hair--a faded black and white photograph; aged with time and worn with touch--Sunnydale--Not the only one--Bloody red claws that became crimson with her lifes blood. A familiar voice, tolling out a stanza, he knew he should remember.  
~~*~~  
  
Sinking down again, he sacrificed everything for another taste. Bringing his own memories to the fore, dripping with sound  
  
~~*~~  
A life before the endless. --Poetry written for the woman he loved--the stabbing pain of rejection--Drusilla making him, taking him away from humanity--Darla and Angelus--The Chinese slayer; his first and sweetest--The NY slayer; all style and refined anger--Angelus at his throat, pressing him into the wall--Drusillas dark kisses; prelude always to her wanker 'daddy' Angelus--Buffy and the scoobies--Giles--The Initiative--Riley--Hostile17-- BuffyBuffyBuffy.   
~~*~~  
  
Buffy. The reason for his soul hunt, should have stilled the madness. But thinking was not something he was very interested in at the moment, settled between her legs, sweetly torturing his celestial divinity and savoring every whimper, sliding his way back to her slender throat, already inscribed with his kiss.   
  
Fever struck, blood boiled; they fought together on the stratosphere's narrow confines.  
  
And fell.....  
  
~~oo00oo~~  
Lohrs dark temple, walls written with the elements of some archaic blood letting text. Peeling, crumbling as flesh, blood and bone erase their gruesome fortunes with life.  
  
Thrumming. Alive. Alive.  
  
It is as if his touch alone, forms her a new body. Skin, burnished bronze and gleaming copper, glistened, moist from the heat of the many fires held in gilded cages set in the cave ceiling and walls.   
  
Long scrolls of Sumerian hieroglyphs followed the line of the forbidden lovers, rain on bodies seething, lips bruised with the flush of the other. A faint sensation of fire warmed beneath them while they strove in concert, almost as if they had been the missing piece in an ancient puzzle - finally joined to make a whole. Lohr stepped from the shadows, eyes burning to somehow commit to memory the symbols -- an incantation of desire. But as suddenly as the writing had appeared, just as quickly the presence of his kind, erased it.   
  
The calligraphy seemed to come alive, undulate from ancient text into living fiery symbols pouring from the wall. pulsing like seizures to paint the writhing mass like snap shots of an ancient mythos.  
  
A language seeking new living parchment.   
  
And find it, they did. The curse formed upon his skin, incomprehensible lettering in Babylonian, striking against his naked paleness - her name. Against her own dark  
cocoa-warm skin, written in glowing illuminious ivory, the name he was given. Before his death and after. William. Ochre and gold; the burnt center of this ancient land, amplified and scribbled on the quailing mortals, in tribal psyche. The rain of sweat on their bodies and the swirling inscriptions ran together, dissolving in the downpour.   
  
Her head thrown back, lost in the vibrations of her body singing against his cool dexterous hands. Swearing, either from him or her, it didn't matter. Need and want, met again and again by touch, by fever stroked climax.   
~~*~~  
  
//And there they lay, not so much entangled, as melded together -- destiny in stark contrast to what they started out as.//  
  
"Separate them." Lohr demanded, the few minions who remained quickly setting about to do his bidding. Those that had fled could and would be hunted later. Secondary; only, to the matters at hand.  
  
Lohrs gaze raked over the girl. Firelight gilded her features, pooling in striking beauty to the darkness from which they had been driven. Undiminished prowess, trembling in that glistening palette of wild mahogany skin, and that tight coiled grace that reminded him of some sun-kissed lioness. But their re-animation takes it's harrowing toll, leaving them weak and vulnerable. Allowing his men to take the advantage, and drag her a few feet apart, before one of those bent figures reeled back with a jagged bit of metal between the eyes. The rest of the men dropped their precious cargo, skittering back just enough to place distance between her and them, but not enough for their king to consider it as disobeying an order. Dahok Lohr ponders briefly, before dismissing them with a wave of his hand. As they leave, his fallen quarry stirs.  
~~*~~  
  
As her mind cleared further and awareness of her surroundings slowly sunk in, hope slowly faded to the pulse of her own heart. Even as her body repaired itself for battle, her mind rallied to give back her sight - and perhaps a chance at survival. She felt herself sag against a rough wall, relieved of something physical she could rely on given her precarious situation. Slowly, carefully she struggled to lift herself, back pressed to it, her hands bracing her to stand. But a shift of gravity, left her precariously on edge. Just as she was about to topple, a pair of cool hands steadied her - then took her breath away.  
~~*~~  
  
Her nearness was overwhelming, auxiliary limbs searching for their equal in her. He finds it, pulsing behind her flushed skin. Whatever she was, intangible, she wasn't. He finds her in the darkness, his body, mind and spirit moved instinctively, falling towards the incredible source. Spike groans softly, as his hands press her to stand, familiar territory he knows so well. Her heart beat, fast and hard against his. Her body felt warm and heavy, thrumming with life. In the trembling that had begun in her, with their touch, flowed into him with an ease that astounded him. A ragged breath, shakily exhaled, escapes - a name so long unspoken, that everything changes upon its expression.   
  
*Whoosh!*  
  
Suddenly Spike is thrown back, landing hard a few feet away, the result of a very fierce kick. The hard exterior of the Slayer slid into place. No trespassing emblazoned on her cheek. Lohr restrained a bark of impressed laughter. Ah, so even half-blind, half-dead, she was still a force to be reckoned. //Perhaps introductions could come later.//  
  
Retreating to the shadows, he watched Spike inch his way up the opposite wall, fully demon and wide awake from pleasant dreams.  
~*~  
He tasted blood, and the fingertips he pulled from his lips glistened darkly with it. Her blood. Marking her as his own. His.  
  
*His?*  
  
Where the Gordon bleedin' Bennett did that come from?!   
  
His mouth twitched into a feral grin. Who bloody 'ell cared, mate? Right now, all there was, was her. And the need to sink himself back into her--  
  
Revoltion and desire ripped through him. Warring for dominance, as he stared down at the sanguine dark on his fingers, sliding like satin over his flesh - and beneath it. In that moment the Fates, shifted. Garnered power to the vehement eyes narrowed on the same abomination of HER blood on HIS fingers, lips and splashed against his milky skin.  
  
His eyes reach hers, dissolute. With a death like grip, he held onto the cavern wall to stop himself from stumbling back in horror. There, standing with her eyes blazing blackest midnight, stood the physical apparition, perfect and perverse, of his newly restored soul -   
  
Kendra; the Vampire Slayer.  
  
"Bloody Hell......"  
tbc...... 


	2. part two

AN: Yep, it really is Kendra and Spike. ;) Sorry for the delay, had to rewrite it because of content. Long winded but sent with luv, man. :)  
  
//..// Lohrs thoughts.  
continued....  
~~oo00oo~~  
Dahok Lohr caverns  
4am.  
  
//Two immortal enemies in battle; how bitter the irony, to discover that they are, literally, fighting for the same thing -- //  
  
Kendra hissed her pleasure at seeing the recognition - the slight tinge of fear in his eyes. Ignoring the electric crackle of something dangerous as their gazes locked, The wind drops to be replaced by a voice in harsh whisper.   
  
"Be in my eyes...." she ground out between clenched teeth, her minds eye stabbing at the phantom floating behind him. Pulling a stake from the debris like lightning, Spike comes under her unflinching gaze. "How's yer gelfriend?"  
  
Spikes cool, blue, merciless gaze regarding her for a long while, sensing something darker in her that shimmered of the soulless.   
  
"Dead," he shot back petulantly, arrogant. "And you?"  
  
She heard the implication more than the insolence, felt herself tensing from the center of her body outward, her stomach knotting, her muscles straining against each other to hold themselves together. The destiny she had taken so much pride in, all driven away by that homicidal witch. Drusilla. Samfi woman!  
  
She stares daggers at him, that intractable smugness rankling. She wouldn't show him any weakness. Deal with the dealer, then she'd find that Bantu witch and let her know just how much she appreciated a second chance at a rematch.   
  
Their bodies collide and they fall together. Kendra immediately punches him, but her punches are easily deflected, hardly even worth the effort. She cried out in anguish, fists clenched, raining down ineffective blows to his chest and face. With vampire speed allows him to grab the slender wrists, still her attack long enough to determine if she is still the hallucination of a vampire souled. She is cool to touch but finding a pulse and senses rather than hears the heartbeat, stirring.   
  
Memories that fall to her slowly, painfully, etching again her transgression. She would not fail again. Anger sweeps aside all else, just before she shrugs from his waning grip, torn with desire, and brings down the stake clutched in her hands.  
~~*~~  
  
The jade demon steps forward, reluctantly, he rather enjoys watching them try  
kill each other. None of them has the strength too, yet, but try they must.   
  
Both stilled in their action, Spike on the ground with Kendra straddling  
him, her wrists caught in his hands, again, ready to strike him down with a  
stray wooden branch. Spike realized then, that she was naked. Perspiration glistened over her copper skin, slicking a path his eyes dared to travel from her throat, down into the valley between her breasts, down further to her tight stomach and down --   
  
**thwapp!**  
  
The make-shift stake finds itself buried in Spikes shoulder. He roars with pain, angrily, and throws off the ex-Slayer, grabbing at the offending weapon and pulling it from his flesh. A string of curses hide the obvious pain she inflicted. But Lohr can still see her smile amidst the dust and carnage, wincing briefly as she rises on the shoulder she landed on.   
  
Stake in hand, Spike uses the last of his energy to shimmy up the wall on unsteady feet. Yeh. Gonna repay the compliment. Lohr sighed emphatically, this could be fun.  
  
"I see you two have met, then."  
  
They both glared at the progenitor of the voice. To the demons chagrin, no doubt both wistfully playing with the idea of turning the tables on him.   
  
Don't kill the messenger, kiddies.   
  
"Who de devil are you?!" The Jamaican Slayer roared at the interloper. The anger burned hotter, fueled by embarrassment. Aware now of her predicament but unable to move from the shadows without giving either demon a thrill.  
  
"Relax. If I wanted you dead, sweetcakes, you'd be dead." he turned his cool gaze to Spike, noting the girls venehmence. "Fiesty one, isn't she?"  
  
Spike gingerly nursed his bleeding shoulder. "You have no idea, mate."  
  
Kendra emitted a low fierce growl, so deep and menacing that the floor and walls momentarily vibrated with the sound. Spike met her eyes evenly, surprised by their brilliance and fervor. Wet and alive with her own desire that it stirred his own. Shutting down hard, he fought her heated gaze.   
  
Lohr ignored their inner turmoil. Not surprised by it at all. "So, then, now that we're all here... to business. My name is Dahok Lohr. Granter of souls.. among other titles."   
  
If the name meant anything to the Jamaican Slayer, she didn't show it.   
  
"I have a few titles, you great hulking git!," Spike stood steadily now, the odd color coming back to his skin as though he were a picture on a television set and someone was playing with the dials. The low pitched, feral sound was born out of disgust. "What did you do, you double-crossing wanker?!"  
  
"Nothing but what was required of me. You asked for a soul," Lohr intoned, seating himself on the fallen stonework of his temple, gesturing idly to the young Jamaican woman on the other side of the cavern, "And you got one."  
  
"MY soul, you bloody tosser - not hers!"   
  
"By de goddess," Kendra interrupted abruptly, glaring down at the vampire. "Dis is yer doin'?!"  
  
Spike ignored her, or at least tried too. Desire bubbled in his veins. A delicious sense of prestige and vitality housed in voluptuously smooth skin, rippled with the same fever burning inside his own.   
  
"The one and only," the demon intoned, casting his eyes to the back of the girl with nervous energy. "Seems as though you took Miss star-gazers incantation; 'Be in my eyes. Be in my eyes..' a little to literal."  
  
Spike growled, frustrated. "Nothing to do with me, chum."  
  
Lohr waved his hand in a sweeping half-circle, a green shimmer emerging from the darkness and solidifying briefly to play out the past.  
  
"It has *everything* to do with you."  
  
~~oo00oo~~  
**flashback**  
South America, 1998  
  
Drusilla met Spikes wounded gaze from across the small divide, the Chaos demon retreating from her passionate embrace to leave. "You can't blame the ghoul, Spike," she says rueful, fighting the only demon she has left, "You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."  
  
**end flashback**  
~~oo00oo~~  
  
"She didn't mean Buffy, William." The image faded quickly, under Lohrs gaze. "Dru saw the day when love would grant you your soul - she just made sure, it came with a price. One that wouldn't let you live long enough to use it. So here we are. Cosy."  
  
The news hit Spike like a ton bricks. It sucker punched him and caused him to inhale sharply. "What do you mean, *she's* my soulmate?"  
  
"I think the both of you know it's far more than that," Lohr barked roughly. "You can already sense each other more intimately than simply the Slayer or vampire senses allow."  
  
Even with the distance between them, Spike was well aware of her thoughts, feelings and emotions crashing against his own. The doubt. The anger and humiliation.   
  
Her presence bore open the wound. Had Dru managed to do the impossible? Turn a Slayer? She swayed precariously like a slender tree in the wind at the inclination. Kendra; Drusillas pet? The thought turned her blood cold.   
  
Spikes brow furrowed, momentarily remorphing back to his human visage. Did he just feel sympathy for her? His eyes widened, as she met his fearful gaze, and he felt the stigmata from her self-crucifixion.   
  
Yes. The answer was a ruddy; Yes. And sympathy wasn't the only emotion.  
  
"You Bastard."  
  
Lohr smiled then, a toothy grin of a ultimate predator. "As may be. But you are bonded together for the rest of your lives. For that; you owe me...."  
  
"Me don' tink zo," Kendra in defiance was a beautiful sight. "I kill ya both, an' den we see who owes whom."  
  
Two massive hands lash out, grabbing her throat. He manages to hoist her off of the ground as soon as he grabs her, forcing her to lash her hands up in defense. She does her best to fight his hands off as she gags, her legs flailing harmlessly in the air, but she's loosing. Lohr takes a moment to watch Spike as he grabs his own throat in empathy, his body reacting to remove the obstruction he feels tightening around his neck.  
  
"Emotion, Slayer. You're filled with one now," he sours, indeterminately twisting his fingers tighter. "You think I don't see Drusilla all through you? The chance to avenge yourself? Your honor?" He presses her body close to his, face to face, as she chokes and splutters. "You kill him, that ends here. Without him, you don't have the strength to kill a butterfly. Without me; you don't get to survive the night or know about the legend you're about to fulfill."  
  
With a disgusted sigh, he throws her over to the gasping vampire and watches them crash and hold against the dark wall. Their bodies cling together, unconsciously William's hands moved across her shoulders, down against her back to the sweet hollow beneath, easing there; the dark message of their union.   
  
Soulmates.   
  
Spike glances down, as she gasps in lungfuls of air, clutching at his shoulders to hold herself up. Khol dark eyes stared back. Sharpened by hunger.   
  
Her breathing fast and furious beat, that spoke to the animal in both man and vampire. He viciously dug his nails into his palm to remind himself of Buffy, the woman who he had surrendered too. But the mark on the exotic slayers throat, still pulsed with his dominion. Even though she fought against it, he knew she felt it too.   
  
He groaned deep in his throat. What the bloody hell was with him and Slayers?  
  
He'd realized too late, that he had telepathically broadcast his time with Buffy. And her part in giving he and Drusilla impunity to get to Angelus. The exquisite slayer tensed in his embrace, warmth draining from her body. She twisted roughly from his clinch, ignoring the pain it caused her, inching back along the same wall, panting with barely restrained rage. She wavered for an instant, as though one of the wires that had been supporting her was cut. But Kendra was not going to let him touch her again - she gritted her teeth and pulled her shoulders back. Steadied, like a pendulum subsiding.   
  
Lohrs haughty slow laugh, rankled his prisoners no end, but they wisely kept silent.   
  
"That's if you survive the mating ritual...."  
  
~*~  
  
That got their attention.  
  
"You whot?!" Spikes glare cut him to strips, tearing his mournful gaze from Kendra.  
  
"What started in the ether, must be concluded in the physical," Lohr sneered, a slight edge to his voice, as though he were telling him how little copulation with a sworn enemy; not Buffy, mattered. "Or you don't want to know what's gonna happen if you leave this bond open. That's where I come in, so to speak."  
  
Mortified silence. He continues uninterrupted. "You've been under the influence of desire since you awoke here a few hours ago - part and parcel. What you don't know, is that until you consumate that bond, it will emit desire to the nocturnal where ever you go. A sort of aphrodisiac for demons. They'll hunt you down and, let's just say that you don't want that to happen."  
  
"Wha' do ya get out of dis?"   
  
Lohr leveled his demon gaze steadily at the defiant young lady, impressed, despite himself. "They're returning. Not even I have the power to hold them back from this crooked piece of earth." his voice falters briefly. "They're the first of the first, and no demon or vampire will stand when they walk.."  
  
"You want sanctuary?!" Spike and Kendra share a wary glance, the answer found on their collective periphery.   
  
Lohr releases a low growl. "Oh, no. I want far more than that--"  
  
But Spike doesn't' turn back to the demon, rather he continues his view of the Jamaican slayer. They're talking about something, he doesn't hear it. Everything is on her. Through her.  
  
Unmindful of her nakedness she moves, faltering on seemingly detached limbs. She glared down at her immobile feet, damning, then tries again, her world spinning. The stake Spike had pried from his shoulder, now clutched in her fist. Whatever Lohr had said; had decided his fate and well as theirs. Her intent wickering between them.  
  
The fatality made Williams nerves tighten and his stomach float in his abdomen, so that he had to close his eyes to stop becoming ill. Death transmuted through a mysterious alchemy; tempered and shaped - cleaves him from himself, flowing like a thick syrup over the rubble towards her.   
  
The contrition in the vampires soothing voice was not enough to quell the revulsion  
that quickly gripped Kendra, as she swayed dangerously hypnotized by the still strong bond between her and English. Her body is flung forward instantly, teetering on the desperate, stunned by the dancing vibrancy of all the ancient colours of the earth walls, all those patterns in blood, all that kaleidoscopic detail in one mad hit of their newly restored soul bond, come down in torrents through her.  
  
Everything happens at once. Kendras head lifts slightly, placing him, before she launches herself at him. "NEVER!"  
  
Lohr bellows like an animal, struck down. His men rush into the deep chamber from strengthening the outer chambers to their masters behest. But they're too late.   
Kendra freezes, lying on top of the beast. Only inches away his demon eyes glare back at her, not really alarmed. But very much pissed.  
  
They stare at each other. Lohr strikes... his hand flashing and ripping open a large wound on her side and hip. A promise of things to come.  
  
Frighteningly, she doesn't succumb to the pain, as he flings her off him and she skids to a halt a few meters away. His voice comes in consolation. "You've made your choice... now live with it!"  
  
She's no longer listening. Slayer auto-pilot. Human minions and vampires come at her in a temporary rush - all are met by the Slayer.   
  
From no where, a bitter cold wind slices through the room in monolith tides. The earth lurches upwards, throwing the advancing demons off kilter, scrambling for shelter or escape. Dahoks temple is crumbling from the inside out. Support beams, hastily resurrected, fall with the weight of crumbling stone and earth.   
  
Somewhere in the back, she knows the reason for her strength is fighting just as hard to escape. "Bonded for life--" rings inside her mind, taunting her. No. No, it's not possible.  
  
She blasts off, in the opposite direction, picking up speed. Can't go back - Lohrs destiny awaits her. She stumbled, fell and scrambled on, regardless of the bleeding and the madding thunder in her head. Gasping for air, clutching her side, she's dying here. The mouth of the cave looms closer, obstructed by a vehicle of some sort. Kendra slams into the combat truck, Dahok Lohr had acquired for their transfer. She spins around, changing direction towards the cab. The door flings open, catching her unawares. A solider inside pistol whips her back, blinding her for a moment. Doubled images flow in front of her, Spike and herself, unexpectedly peeling back quickly - like senses tearing, revealing two bodies. Spike slouched against the wall by the jeep, mercury text staining his skin. He sits up wide-eyed, speechless and amazed to be alive. Then he sees an equally astonished Slayer looking at him. Kendra reels from the transmutation of his teleportation. Another curse of the bond. The solider is in shock, his gaze wide eyed and disbelieving. Gaining control just as fast as she lost it, Kendra answered the demon with a swift, immobilizing kick, pulling him from the cab and jumping in.   
  
Hesitation. No, Lohr was wrong. The Slayer needed no-one, especially the boyfriend of the bloody murderess who had gotten her in this mess. The keys fire the ignition and she cranks it out of there. The tires squeal as she roars off to freedom - alone.  
  
The jeep swerves, jumps and accelerates at speed, barely missing the villagers, rickshaws, camp fires and huts built around the temple of Dahok Lohr. The pot holed terrain, clips the vehicle into a spin, but she surges on regardless. Gunfire suddenly explodes, bullets whizz through the canvas top and the rear window shatters and sprays glass. Kendra ducks waiting for more gunfire. None comes. A flash look in the rearview mirror she sees huge plumes of smoke and dust boil from the cavern, the wave of dust and rock knocking down her hunters, a rumbling tremor following closely.   
  
Spike!  
  
Pain severs coherent thought, white heat of it, taking her hands from the wheel to clutch desperately at her head. The distance she had traveled now began to physically change her. The claws and nails of Spikes victims came for her too. Slice. Slash. Her smooth skin, rupturing with the invisible strikes, cutting her to pretty bloody ribbons. Everything he feels, she feels. And so much more. She ran and contemplated her fate if she didn't stop. She slams the brakes, the car skidding to a violent stop. Her gaze cuts to the mirror again, her eyes are turning black - an inky cauldron on a face paling to white marble. Drusilla?!  
  
Hell no! If putting up with English is what it takes to bring Dru to her knees, then that's what it takes. Guess that was her 40 pieces of silver. Gears are stripped as she reverses. So, if fate determines her destiny, lets seem them do it blindfolded.  
  
A malicious grin, she covers her eyes and allows fate to direct her to him. The jeep hits a pot hole, jerks, swerves to the left, pressing onward. The wheel rips to the left, slicing to and fro - for an instant she worries. The last of Lohrs minions that are left standing have no intention of confronting her, too busy nursing their wounds.  
  
*BOOM!*  
  
The back of the super-charger jeep, slams into the disintegrating mouth of the cavern, becoming part of the disintegrating support system. Ahead something looms out of the dust storm. Her body tenses, immediately on alert. She can't locate the vampire, but she senses *something.*   
  
Her eyes are back to their normal color, the marks of crucifixion healing in the early dawn light.   
  
Silhouetted against the clouds, he is there. Tension hung in the air between them as tight as a drum. His senses scattered, a massive tangle of live wires sparking through their connection. Spike reels at this - veracity wickering between them. He knows what it took to come back, as much as she had known what it took to watch her leave and make no move for retribution. Nothing needs to be said, to be understood. Spike pulls himself from the wreckage and scrambles in the back, his body bent and twisted by their separation.   
  
The back of the jeep has no cover, and as she guns the big motor out again, Spike swears as the dawn sun starts to scorch him through the shredded canopy. He ducks under a worn out cloak to hide. He whimpers once, as the sun chars his hands holding up the tarpaulin. He whimpers, body twitching. Agitated. But she senses the immediate comfort and solace that their nearness imparts.   
  
Spike made no move to touch her, but the heat of his body scorched her all the same. A fire ignited in the pit of Kendra's belly, reminding her of their union. He chances a look at her. The line of her back, the shoulder turned to him.   
  
They become figures through falling debris, dust clouds and the stuttering images of two bodies in living contrast. Kendra ignores everything but her destination, she hits the supercharger - surging away.. She swerves, slaloms through the wrecks and accelerates.   
  
Kendra risked a glance back to see that English had fallen to unconsciousness, thankfully, allowing her the respite of her own thoughts. Damned be the consequences of the bond; it was worth everything for revenge.   
  
Everything. Everyone.  
  
Sunnydale was in for one heck of a reunion.  
  
End Prologue  
~~~~~~  
*  
Bantu means accursed  
Samfi is Jamaican for trickster or con. 


	3. part three

Authors note: My utmost thanks to Sigma1, Alicia, ShanniC and Rogue  
  
MaCloud which I'd like to dedicate this re-written chapter too.   
  
Please click on my author name here in ff.net to get the latest update on  
  
this story.  
  
Time-lines: Buffy - Between Seasons 6 & 7. Spikes search for a soul  
  
while in Africa. Angel - Seasons 2 or 3. Gunn has just made contact with  
  
Angel, and there's an uneasy friendship blossoming.  
  
Summary: The hideously beautiful Sumerian Dahok Lohr, grants Spikes  
  
quest for a soul - only the price of which is the newly arisen and ticked  
  
off dead slayer; Kendra. Impossible to win, and unthinkable to loose,  
  
the soulbonded Spike and Kendra escape whatever nefarious plans  
  
that Dahok Lohr intends of them - intent on returning to Sunnydale - one  
  
for love; the other for revenge.  
  
That's if they survive each other.  
  
Los Angeles, midnight.  
  
"Cordelia! Get out of here! Cordelia!!"   
  
Angel caught one glimpse of her, curled over on her side on the couch  
  
gasping, fighting for breath, before the demon lunged for him, tackling  
  
him down to the floor with a howling ferocity that left even Angel  
  
breathless.  
  
The larger vampire clawed at Angel's bruised face and arms, striking  
  
with impossible force as they rolled over and crashed into the schedule  
  
boards and demon chronicles that littered Cordelias apartment. Tomes  
  
and CDs fell about them like sharp stars, taking their own barbarous toll  
  
in the brawl. The demons large fist connected with Angel's side, driving  
  
him back further than any vampire had ever managed. Briefly, Angels  
  
face registered shock, then blatant anger.   
  
Ever since this conflict began, the air felt tainted by something he  
  
couldn't define. It had affected him as much as it had the demons he  
  
had fought from her door a moment ago, a shock wave of power and  
  
blood he had never experienced before. Angels control slipped, and  
  
his demon materialized, briefly in his minds eye, and raked a well  
  
manicured talon across his soul.   
  
That's all it took. Blood boiled.   
  
The scent of Cordelias fear and stuttering heartbeat assaulted his  
  
frayed senses, making him falter in his defense, unhinging him at the  
  
knees.   
  
Always taken pride in his legendary ability to control the beast, he had  
  
no answer in how easily the demon rose to meet him.   
  
A primal growl of hunger ripped from another throat, given over to the  
  
blood conquest.  
  
For as the last vampire took the opportunity to strike the barely  
  
conscious Cordelia, Angelus simmered to the fore - possessive and  
  
greedy for blood and impending violence.   
  
Suddenly the advancing demon was catapulted back by an invisible  
  
force, limbs threshing and grasping at nothing, slamming into the  
  
cursed Angel who was advancing in tandem. Both vampires where  
  
thrown unceremoniously to the floor - bodies mangling violently.  
  
The other vampire looked mildly surprised as the broken leg of the  
  
table they'd managed to bust into pieces was now buried in his chest.   
  
Dennis, you beautiful phantom. Angel sighed heavily in relief,  
  
managing to take back a little of the lost control. A growl of satisfaction  
  
erupted from him, before the other vampires weight was suddenly lifted  
  
in a cloud of grey dust from Angels chest.   
  
But danger remained, regardless. Angel felt the heat and the need  
  
pulse beneath his skin - taunting the meager control he had over the  
  
demon inside. In one fluid movement, he had lifted himself from the  
  
cloud of dust and stared apprehensively down at the sprawled  
  
goddess.   
  
"Dennis!," Angel growled, fear making his voice louder than usual.  
  
Desperate. "take her in the bedroom NOW. Don't let me back in -- "  
  
The room chilled and even though a dark hunger began it's  
  
consumption of him, he managed to bite out a reply. "Don't question -  
  
just do.'   
  
Frustration mounted as Cordelia lay tantalizing still, close enough for  
  
him to reach out and.....  
  
Fangs extended, contorting into a fierce growl. "NOW!"  
  
Hesitation and then her body hovered and quickly disappeared down  
  
the hall way. He waited, straining against base desire, till he heard the  
  
door close behind them and then lock. Within the room, he knew that  
  
Dennis would stop at nothing to protect his princess. Intangible or not,  
  
this phantom was one heck of a protector when it came to her.  
  
Pity that tonight, he could not say the same.  
  
Turning, he jumped up onto the windowsill with the fluid grace of a cat.  
  
The demon forced back with Cordelias absence. Guilt and anguish  
  
briefly crossed his handsome human visage, before he jumped down  
  
into the cannon of darkness and without a backward glance - he bolted.  
  
He ran, till neither human eye or vampire could track him.   
  
Something was happening within his city - something or someone that  
  
was evoking a madness amongst those that were already unhinged as  
  
hell. What was more frightening, he realized, as the city became a blur  
  
beneath him, was that it hadn't been the first time.   
  
But God willing, if he had anything to do with it - it would be the last.   
  
Cairo Motel.  
  
Her head jerks suddenly, jolts awake as if coming out of a nightmare,  
  
awakened by her own reverberating humiliation. Angered by it, driven.   
  
And there he is.  
  
Sleek.  
  
Elegant.  
  
Cold.  
  
William the Bloody, better known as Spike leaned in the bathroom  
  
doorway, arms folded over his chest, the light and wisps of vapor from  
  
his recent shower, billowed behind him making him a glorious  
  
silhouette.   
  
Kendra glanced over his body, and quickly had to look away and bite  
  
back a sharp moan that threatened to escape. For some insane reason  
  
he looked quite sexy bruised and battered as he was. Their vicious and  
  
exhilarating struggle so delicious now painted on him. With him standing  
  
there wearing nothing but a white terrycloth towel hitched provocatively  
  
at the side, she had never seen a man, or vampire, so undressed. Or  
  
so intent on her.   
  
"Fantasy gone awry, luv?" he asked softly, the timbre of his voice belied  
  
the frenzy in his eyes.   
  
The suspicion that he was enjoying her discomfort piqued Kendra's  
  
anger and she bolted from the bed. Back bone snapping with  
  
indignation.  
  
In that moment he took in every inch of her that his beloved coat had  
  
not covered. The smooth cocoa warm skin, the long limbed grace of  
  
her. Briefly he became lost in the smell of her, of the core of her that he  
  
sensed pulsed inside that skin - hypnotizing the demon, drawing him  
  
away.   
  
Over her shoulder, she glared at him. He lifted his lips in a silent snarl,  
  
glaring right back, gaze running over her in a way that made her nervous  
  
and a little sick inside. Possessive, almost.   
  
The hell she was.  
  
"Don't push it, vampyre." she seethed, garnering her defenses in an  
  
attempt to block him out. With the hours of sleep she had eventually  
  
found, her defiant nature had returned.   
  
Spikes fingers clenched into fists. There was only so much negligent  
  
attitude he could stomach.  
  
"This isn't all about you, you dozy cow! I'm involved in this too."   
  
She spun on her heel, facing him, finally. Her eyes flashed dangerously.  
  
"Don' tink I don' remember."   
  
Her eyes on him, sharp and unrelenting, she moves like a cat uncurling  
  
from a satisfied slumber. Warm mocha limbs flex and torque, flashes of  
  
skin tempt him from beneth his leather trench.   
  
Spike swallows down hard, he won't let this naff chit do his head in with  
  
the comely lass - whose hard exterior would probably bend back a  
  
hyper dermic needle. He'd had enough with these Slayer shelias  
  
handing him his butt, when he more than put it on the line for one of  
  
them.   
  
Damned if he was gonna let some defect slayer do the same.  
  
He watched the lithe mocha temptress gracefully make her way across  
  
the dappled shadowed room towards him. She moved gracefully. Her  
  
head held high like royalty. A Nubian queen. Oblivious to him, or the  
  
reaction his body struggled to contain. Peeling his muddy coat from her  
  
frame she dropped it to the floor, regardless that she was naked  
  
underneath. Or that his marks from the night before, adorned every  
  
sensuous inch.  
  
The sway of hips, long sinewy limbs bathed in cocoa warm skin, the flat  
  
stomach, the generous hips and strong thighs. There was nothing  
  
meager about her, she radiated the kind of sexuality of a softly  
  
endowed goddess - with the powerhouse of a pissed off slayer.  
  
Spike's mouth watered at the sight of her. Images of how those  
  
wondrous curves came to be deliciously marked by him the night  
  
before, stole his first line of attack.   
  
Before he could retract the recollection from forming between them,  
  
Kendra winced as if she'd been hit. The memory of that night was so  
  
clear. Her heart, beset by a pain so real that she was forced to curl up  
  
around her middle to just escape its icy grip.  
  
Spikes hands shoot out, grasp her tightly about the arms, pulling her up,  
  
pressing her to him - collapsing into the night before.  
  
_**flashback**  
  
"Whot in bleeding hell are you doing here?!" Spike hissed without  
  
wasting breath on an insignificant greeting. He didn't waste time with  
  
trivialities. Politeness gave way to demand.  
  
She wouldn't admit it, but despite her previous attack of conscience,  
  
she was still powerfully intrigued by the British vampyre. Glimpses of  
  
the man before the vile demon, the man who remained in spite of the  
  
demon, Drusilla and Angelus had taken their turn to drive him out. His  
  
love/obsession with Dru had both hardened him, but his love ?? for  
  
Buffy had knocked him to his knees.   
  
It had confused her. A vampire capable of more than blood thirsty  
  
murder, a sense that none she had alotted - contained in this man.  
  
Vampire.  
  
Kendra reminded herself harshly. Concentrating on the circumstances  
  
would be less dangerous.  
  
It had taken a month of dodging the heavy military pressence in Iraq,  
  
the many Watchers groups in Africa, the demons that were drawn by  
  
their trial and error testing the bond as well as the hunters Garak Lohr  
  
had sent after them.   
  
They had cannibalized the truck of it's hidden goods. Weapons. Food. Fuel. Even the  
  
passports in the glove compartment were sold to the underground for a pretty penny.  
  
Not that they'd really needed it - threats sufficed to get them from one place to another  
  
and her honed skills at dodging airport security managed to get them aboard several  
  
flights in the cargo hold without much ta-do. With the money, Spike had brought her  
  
clothes - something completely inappropriate, which he swore blue blazes that was the  
  
only thing in the store. A flimisy summer dress and knitted cardigan. Feminine.  
  
Provocative. Candyfloss. Totally unlike her - well, the her she'd been before. Kendra  
  
abandoned that line of thought quickly.  
  
She was a girl - it seemed. And the thought both intrigued and belittled her.   
  
Two weeks with Spike had been informative, without each giving the  
  
other too much in verbal terms, their unusual bond had been  
  
enlightening.  
  
Secrets, thoughts and unguarded emotions slipping through wherther  
  
they wanted or not. The image of the blond slayer filled her minds eye,  
  
briefly superimposed over the memories Spike had inadvertently given  
  
to her. Betrayal stung her heart. How could Buffy have let Drusilla go, let  
  
alone taken up with Angel again, when his hand was behind it all?  
  
Kendra pushed it aside.  
  
Still, they had not; for all their trying, had been able to negate the  
  
demands of their vorted bond. What ever solution there was; lay back in  
  
Garak Lohrs cave - and they weren't going back. All this passed in her  
  
minds eye, stolen by the ire in his voice. She mirrored it perfectly.  
  
"I don't have to explain my actions to you," she replied without turning  
  
around.   
  
"Don' get bolshy with me," he growled out, his blood boiled, voice  
  
cracking on the unknown. "What. are. you. doing. here?"  
  
She didn't reply, instead her fingers skimmed the worn tomes and  
  
yellowing ancient scripts littering the apartment, a lifetime ago swimming  
  
back to her - stark in its beauty and condemnation. From the corner of  
  
her eye, she focused on the glass top desk, Cordelias laptop stood  
  
open, a program running a complete file backup on disk.  
  
If Angel Investigation didn't have immediate contact with Drusilla, then  
  
they'd know where she was at least. Either way, she wasn't leaving  
  
without the key to Drusillas whereabouts.   
  
"If ya don' want ta be here, insect, den ya know yer way out."  
  
Spike steps up close to Kendra, invading her space looks her straight in  
  
the eye. Kendra doesn't back away.   
  
"I could simply go myself, drag you with me. You're not that tough,  
  
kitten," Spike growled, annoyed. She wasn't up to the task, they both  
  
knew that. Something in her had fundamentally changed in her powers.  
  
But she was getting stronger every day, and her score card would be  
  
his pale hide, if he ever tried to force her to do anything.  
  
Kendra coolly raised a brow at him in reply, silently daring the English to  
  
try.   
  
Before she can answer, the programme running signals its completion  
  
and ejects the CD. Without breaking their shared hard gaze, her hand  
  
snakes out, lifts the round silver disk from the compartment, and places  
  
it in an empty case beside them.  
  
All one handed, cooler than Billy bloody Idol, mate. A muscle flicks at  
  
his jaw, he's wondering what other talents she could accomplish with  
  
that hand. Thoughts spiral - leading him to what his own hands had been  
  
capable of when it came to this slayer.   
  
A pulse pounded erratically at the base of her throat, and he knew that  
  
his unwavering gaze affected her. The sweet thrill of victory was lost on  
  
him, though. Caged inside a precarious bond to a dead Slayer, no less,  
  
made the win a bitter pill.   
  
Kendra looked up at him, with her brown eyes wet and alive with her  
  
own excitement. Her heart trembled in the tight confines of her chest  
  
and she moistened her bottom lip with her tongue. Everything in him  
  
focused on that motion. The plum darkness of her lips, the tip of that  
  
clever tongue that flickered over the plumpous flesh - inticing. He  
  
closed his eyes briefly, burning with the memory of their affirmations.  
  
Guilty pleasures.  
  
She didn't need to look to know that his skin was warming hotly with the  
  
bright incantation pulled from the shadows of Garaks domain. Didn't  
  
need to know what that meant - what good it would do to fight it.  
  
Still - it wasn't in her nature not to try.  
  
This can't be happening now, her mind screamed at her, clenching her  
  
jaw, fingers tight around the disk in order to stop from reaching for him,   
  
and the bond that would not be denied. Ancient ink prickling against her  
  
inner thigh, skimming over the sweet rise of her buttocks, licking up her  
  
spine. Sumerian chronicle; fluent on pale skin as on dark.  
  
His moist breath skimmed over her cheek, igniting turbulent fires within  
  
her.   
  
"No." she grounded out. A pitiful cry even to her own ears.   
  
"You chose the venue, sweetheart. Give in." the implication clear, he  
  
held her responsible.   
  
She clenched her jaw, her breasts growing heavy under his unflinching  
  
gaze. "No."  
  
But even as she said it, she leaned into him, his touch easing the sting  
  
of being in her own body.   
  
You are mine.   
  
What would usually drive her to launch at him with nails and teeth bared  
  
sharply in ever being 'owned', especially by a vampire, she found  
  
herself in bewildered concordance.   
  
Her yielding gnaws at his reserve, and there's no way he's doing this  
  
slowly. His hands move on their own, ripping her clothes from her body  
  
with such force; the beast in him both man and monster in claiming what  
  
is his, he's both impressed and horrified at the beauty of it all.  
  
He pulls back. The man in him wanting her to admit this. He makes no  
  
move to touch her, but his body hardens all the same.  
  
She wrestles with desire. Spike trembles, must fight to remain standing.  
  
He nearly dies when quickly her fingers dig into his rigid flesh, and he's  
  
making a soft sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. Her hunger  
  
rivaled his own primal urge, perhaps surpassed it, as her nails dig in  
  
harder, drawing blood.   
  
With her silent admission, he rammed himself against her, pushing her  
  
along the desk edge, toppling off the desk contents, in order to find the  
  
nearest hard vertical surface. Eventually the wall stopped their  
  
progress, and he drove himself against her. Their mouths fuse, part  
  
hunger part ire, their hands taking and giving in kind. He shudders as her  
  
climax dawns, her throat exposed for his final kiss.  
  
Only there's not a chance that could happen.  
  
The fist that comes flying at speed, hits Spike square in the jaw, decks  
  
him. He hits the floor. Only it isn't Kendras, but their unexpected  
  
hostess with the mostess - Cordelia Chase.  
  
Cordelia is suddenly ontop of his woman, fingers tangled in her long  
  
hair trying to pull it from the roots. Her violent seduction met with tame  
  
resistance, as Kendra struggled from a daze. Once he could have  
  
enjoyed this scene, shared it with the poncy git Xander even, but the  
  
hell burning in his skin was unimpressed with the brief girly action.  
  
She belonged to him. And he wasn't in the mood for sharing.  
  
Oh no, sister. One hell cat was enough.  
  
He ripped the brunette from the Jamacian beauty, tossing her to the far  
  
wall where she hit and slid down. He was too taken up with his mistress  
  
to be worried on Cordys addlebrained state. Kendra seemed to come  
  
to, her mouth demanding his without words. He complied, gratefully,  
  
sinking down to strike lovingly at her throat and the blood that was  
  
betrothed.  
  
She filled him, dark sweet promises meant only for him. Arousal  
  
brightening at his core, extended through them until there remained  
  
nothing left of him or her.  
  
Somewhere he had registered windows breaking; glass raining down on  
  
them. Then the claustrophobic press of vampire bodies and a howling  
  
scream of a predator somewhere off in the near distance. He had felt  
  
the true slayer diminish in that humiliating moment, her fists, nails and  
  
cries unerringly finding him.  
  
He willingly took the sting. Till there was nothing left to give but blood.  
  
Fangs extend, bite into the willing flesh; salted by her tears - or perhaps  
  
his, and they fall together; alone. Clouds of dust rain upon them, the  
  
consequence of those that dare touch, rent and seperate them - and fail  
  
in the attempt.  
  
Reality swims back, dissolving his world to her beneath him. Still as  
  
death.  
  
Her eyes are no longer on him, but held fast to the dark orbs of Miss  
  
Chase, who watched them in their passions, staring blindly back.  
  
Kendra actively severed the connection between who she was then;  
  
and who she was now. To keep it, would entangle the true slayer into  
  
action that would distract her from her duty. Her destiny. No slayer, living  
  
or dead, as was she; should ever go through this. In secret, she could  
  
do as she must to take revenge - in her mind, a just cause.   
  
Discovery had made the truth a cross she could no longer ignore or lift  
  
herself from. She knows, Engleesh. Kendra telepathically conveyed  
  
to him through their connection. She knows.  
  
A boot fall on the stair and a familiar voice calling out, severed his own  
  
doubts on whether Angels receptionist would hold the memory of what  
  
happened. Their union had not killed her like the others; more akin to  
  
her being half demon and not a full blood, he supposed. Half-breeds  
  
memories of the union, or those involved, were generally wiped clean..  
  
or so they'd come to discover. Only the reoccurring scent of their joined  
  
pheromones stayed with them. All that, erased, under the impending  
  
doom.  
  
Her impaling muteness stabbed at him with acute clarity. Without  
  
another word, in one swift movement he swept her up into his arms,  
  
wrapping her in his coat and carried her away from the building and their  
  
appalling unveiling.  
  
Unaware that a previously unconscious half-breed vampire rose with  
  
their scent in his nostrils remained. Or in Cordelias clenched fist, a  
  
scrap of cloth torn from the lining of Spikes coat.  
  
**End flashback**  
_  
Spikes arms tightened prtoectivelly about the dark slayer, conflicted.  
  
The bond grasping wildly. Her eyes stared up at him, damning with her  
  
own emotional pull. Buffys face swam before their minds eye; accusing.  
  
Reminding them both of what remained between each of them.  
  
Guilt followed desire quickly, they each pushed back, breathing hard at  
  
the enforced separation. He needed to get away from her, if for no  
  
other reason than to ensure that some blood remained in his brain  
  
stead of rushing south.   
  
Words, Spike. Those things that come out of your mouth. Say  
  
something, instead of staring at her like a bleedin' fool.  
  
He stared at her defiantly, arms crossed over his chest awaiting for  
  
Kendra to acknowledge what had taken place. Seeing her refuse to  
  
meet his eyes, told him much. This was going to be a struggle from the  
  
get go.   
  
"Dis isn' gonna be a permanent ting," she hurried to correct him. "Once  
  
I'm done, you're outta here."  
  
"Not before you, luv." he shot back, insolently.   
  
Kendra had Spike by the throat, pinned up against the wall before he  
  
could blink. "So many of dose who double cross me, don' live ta tell  
  
abou' it. 'cause if ya tink dis is any differen'--"  
  
"Don't get up yourself, girly." he growled, shoving her off in order to  
  
place much needed space between them. "You're a bloody reject too.  
  
Too faulty for the Slayer heaven."  
  
His barbs struck the sensitive part of her rubbed raw by fear. She was  
  
not gonna give in to it though. "As much as you wish odder wise,  
  
engleesh," she simmered hautily, "De plan not changed. Dat disk is still  
  
our goal. We gonna get it - we find 'er, stick 'er, den we continue dis lill'  
  
chat about defective slayin' "  
  
"Look," Spike growled, exasperated, "I'll get the flippin' disk - You...  
  
just go and get cleaned up. We should move out soon, don't like the  
  
look of the locals.   
  
The Jamacian ex-Slayer huffed. More like the other way around, but she  
  
gave no voice to it. Something in her lessened, a knot melted from  
  
between her shoulders in hot liquid, down her spine, over her generous  
  
hips and down her thighs dragging the fight away. Let him go - what  
  
could be the worst that could happen?  
  
It was enough between them, that she needed not say a word. Their  
  
eyes meet; a flow of electrical charges burning an understanding as  
  
intimate and as hellish as any slap and tickle. He met her eyes evenly,  
  
defiantly, surprised by their brilliance and fervour. Her eye colour  
  
changed from khol rimmed black to a dark cabernet.   
  
His clean skin feels suddenly sticky and hot - a shimmering of black  
  
coils at the base of his spine like a wisp of smoke.   
  
Not again! His voice or hers - it doesn't matter. Her heartbeat strikes at  
  
him, at her. His body ached and the hard beat of her pulse flashed  
  
before his eyes.   
  
Mercifully Kendra pulled away, slipping over the threshold and Spike  
  
exhaled the breath he did not know he'd held. She retreated to the  
  
bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pressed her temple against  
  
the door. A moments hesitation, and Spike heard the click of the lock  
  
sliding across.  
  
He had to move now, while he was still willing.   
  
He watched the bleach blond vamp make a surprising and hasty retreat,  
  
heading further downtown on foot... retracing his footsteps back to  
  
where he had picked up their scent. The dude couldn't be that stupid.  
  
Could he?  
  
The dark figure took a cellular from his coat and dialed out. After a few  
  
rings the line was picked up.  
  
"Yeh, it's me. What?! When?" There's a pause, and the man  
  
expression darkens. "Is she all right– Yeh. I'll keep some guys on the  
  
lay low, she'll be protected."  
  
He listened carefully, observing what the man didn't say, before he  
  
continued. "Right. That's why I'm callin'. You need to see something.  
  
Same place? Right."   
  
He hung up, returning the phone to his breast pocket. Nimble fingers  
  
popped the cheap motel lock moments later, allowing him entrance into  
  
the vampires room. His expert gaze took in the dank room, the hints of  
  
a struggle, the bed in disarray, sheets shredded and yanked away from  
  
the mattress. The mockery of a cross pinned to the wall, and the empty  
  
blood vile beneath it. A vampire nest; if it were not for the very living  
  
human presence. Empty food containers and soda cans scattered on  
  
70s carpet, clothes still warm by their owner. Human Vampire wannabes  
  
were nothing new, especially in this part of the city, but then he was ill at  
  
ease with the few well worn tomes of demon anthology set neatly on  
  
the dresser, the maps of extinguished demon habits and the several  
  
well crafted wooden stakes on every conceivable surface. He took it all  
  
in, brow furrowing in confusion. Who was she? What was this hellish  
  
deal with the monster? Was she – she wasn't Alonna, he reminded  
  
himself harshly. Unsure now, he pushed memories of Alonna aside, as  
  
the dark girl exited the bathroom, backwards, dragging Spikes heavy  
  
coat. The white towel hid most of her from his disquieted gaze,  
  
observing the bruises, wounds and strange tattoos on her lower back...  
  
as the towel came loose, the cool air making her warm skin blush. She  
  
was mortal.   
  
She was exquisted.  
  
Not given to hesitation, he found himself lost on what to do. When she  
  
turned to face him, shock paralysing her, he noted the most important  
  
thing of all – he would not be persuaded otherwise.  
  
And Charles Gunn attacked.


End file.
